A Call
by InvaderMads45321
Summary: Based on the original comic, "A Call". Johnny's POV on his suicidal cure, the hole through his head. What happened while the 2 hostages were escaping? What happened when they met up with Johnny's dying carcass? Rated 'T' for gore/ and suicidal attempts.
1. Old Habits

My first JTHM fanfic. I'm more known for my Invader Zim stories(ZAGR) please, do NOT mention ZAGR or Zim in ANY of the reviews, this is ONLY meant for Johnny. And ONLY Johnny.

* * *

><p>The harsh white light of the moon spread across the city, bathed in a cool, milky glow. The sound of cars honking and the smell of smoke hung deep within the nighttime air, as people mingled through the traffic filled streets. Colorful neon lit up the wet pavement and onto the hoods and roofs of the passing cars, giving the suburban area a beautiful fountain of color.<p>

But no person had the care to focus on beauty such as this. The majority of the population had better things to do than ponder on color and confusion. Their absent minds were occupied by sick, twisted matters that were beyond anyone's view of perception. Humans, consumed by filth and rot. Strangers; simply puppets for the Devil's dirty handiwork.

There were some, however, who saw through the dirt and muck, into the eyes of truth itself. One, driven from the clutches of family and love, into the emptiness; one, pushed away from reality, and into unsettling compulsions of delusions and hallucinations, and forced actions upon his will from a terrible demon which thrived within his own home.

His name is Johnny C.

An innocent human, nothing else; an enslaved spirit who is ordered by two Styrofoam doughboys, a pet bunny, and a demon scourge from beyond the realm of humanity. A man, chained to fate, trained to kill, to reluctantly serve the heart of evil itself.

* * *

><p>Below the lawn of house 777 is none other than a man's torture chambers, deep within the heart of the house. A maze of tunnels, stairways, ladders and holes led to various rooms, holding many grotesque looking tools and machines caked in dry, leftover blood. Farther into the house, you could hear the faint sound of tortured screams and caterwauling, followed by the sounds of ripping flesh, and bone scraping against bone.<p>

"Now, would you mind repeating that name to me again? You called me a 'cock sucker' followed by the word retched word 'faggot'. You and you're stuck up group of friends, ready for another victim to thrust discomfort into their minds. But they're dead; lifeless... Discomfort…"

Eyeing the rest of the dead hostages, two of the bodies' limbs torn apart from the torso and each organ spilled out from the middle; the other two bodies' bones were fractured and broken; the white shine of bone and marrow glinting under the smooth crimson flow of blood.

Johnny's boney fingers gripped tighter around the small black box he held in his right hand; his slim thumb poised over the silver button at the top of the remote, his thoughts craving the sound of the woman's feeble, desperate attempt for an apology and forgiveness.

A wad of spit was shot onto the left bridge of Johnny's nose, slightly landing on his eye. Gritting his teeth, he screwed his eyes up to his hostage, unpleased at the sight of fearlessness. Cackling darkly, Johnny wiped away the spit, and set the little box down onto the table of deathly instruments beside him. Once he rid himself of the disgusting sewage on his face, he slowly picked up a knife off of the table.

"I hope you're friends see you in Hell." A quick flash of his ridged knife, and both eye-sockets were soon gouged out, along with her jaw cut away from her skull in just a few violent and gruesome knife techniques.

The shallow crypt of blood below the dying, twitching corpse collected every drop of blood that fell from the woman, saving each ounce for the wall. It was to be painted later.

Walking back over to the table of tools, Johnny pressed the silver button on the remote, thus ripping away her flesh and revealing her bloody intestines squirming within. Johnny dared not to further look at the destruction as he drank in the sound of the ripping flesh and exploding organs.

Johnny set the ridged knife down onto the table and headed for the stairs that lead to the top of the house. Step after step, closer to the surface. Breath by breath, calming each nerve, and forcing his pulse back to his normal heart rate.

Johnny's steel-toed boots hit the top of the stairs, clinking against the wood of the floor, setting the trigger off and the gun on the wall to point towards him.

No, it wouldn't shoot unless the phone rang and Johnny picked up the receiver, questioning who might call him.

"Johnny," both Mr. Eff and Psycho Doughboy said in unison.

Twitching, Johnny just continued on toward his room. Glass, wood, and rubble lay strewn around in his 'headquarters' but he accepted this more than the empty suggestions of suicide that Psycho Doughboy would attempt to talk about. It put Johnny into fits of depression. He came close several times, shooting himself, electrocuting himself, killing himself with a store clerk, and so forth and so on. But that was when he had Nailbunny.

Nailbunny… Nailbunny won't answer Johnny. They've grown too strong. The doughboys have grown too strong. This was when he needed Bunny the most.

Johnny let his plans stretch a little bit. Besides, maybe death IS the answer. Now it's time's turn to play and see when someone will have the heart to call or even care.

**_Dear Die-ary,_**

**_Why are humans so proud of their 'perfection'? What is it that gives them such confidence within their very own being? Could they not know the blindness in which they are consumed? Time is no longer the subject of the matter. It is care and comfort that stands against before the word of death.  
><em>**

**_I need another Cherry Brain-freezy._**

* * *

><p>(AUTHOR'S NOTE): Comment, Review, Favorite, Flame, just don't bring up IZ. Tell me how I'm doing at the story so far, and tell others about this story as well.<p> 


	2. Confrontations and Recordings

It was 2:09 A.M.

Johnny sat on the ledge of his window, staring at the vast, starry sky above him, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. His pale fingers were wrapped around a grey tape recorder, and his voice burdened with thick emotion, finishing up his recording.

Hanging his head, his thin black hair shadowed his face, giving him a mysterious, intimidating look upon his features. His mind wandered back to Devi again.

"**I like you immensely, Devi. And to prove it, I shall obliterate all of my affection interest for you. Just like before, but different," a shudder filled Johnny and he cringed at the truth of his next words, "I cannot hurt what I do not acknowledge. I don't know of anyone that I love, or of anyone that loves me. But I give you what I can. I give you my nothing. While I still have feeling I wish to apologize."**

Shutting his eyes, he willed his heart beat slower, and he continued recording his message.

"**I know forgiveness is out of the question. I just ask for what we all ask the people we respect – that the thought of me does not compel you to violent spasms of projectile vomiting."**

Contemplating on the words that he had just recorded, he scrunched his toes inside his boots, and covered his white face with his free hand, rambling on into the recorder about vomit and the doughboys.

Gritting his teeth, he realized his rant, and reluctantly pressed the stop button.

Empty words; he wasn't worth forgiveness or the time of Devi. Fuck, he wasn't worth anything to anyone, except the doughboys. Their taunts filling his head; the temptation of suicide buzzing in the back of his pitiful mind.

Taking a deep breath, Johnny set the tape recorder onto the ledge of the window, the light of the moon reflecting off of the shiny plastic that lined the speakers. Johnny willed himself back into the living room, and sat into a wooden chair which sat in a dark corner of the room.

* * *

><p>One of the demonic pillsburry doughboys, Psycho Doughboy, hobbled over to the deathly suicide machine hanging on the wall. Peering at it closely in disappointment and confusion, "this piece of shit won't work; you've tried countless times, but you've never successfully been able to kill yourself."<p>

"**You notice, perhaps, that I am not smiling. See, you never really mean to kill yourself, you pathetic tick. Oops, I'm being unfriendly aren't I? Well, I've grown so sick of seeing you make a mockery of self-annihilation."**

Johnny looked up and responded in a thick voice,

"**Well, this should do the trick. I want out of this. Nailbunny stopped talking yesterday- I know you know why. You've stolen too much of me… I'm through with being used." Johnny's lips formed a thin line across his face in seriousness.**

Mr. Eff looked at the other doughboy, and then to Johnny. A cackle rose in his throat as he headed towards Johnny's chair, pointing at him in agreement.

"**That's right, Nny, you little SHIT! Free will and all that ROT! C'mon, you're a slave – just play the game a little longer. Soon enough you won't even be needed… Hm… what, exactly, do you have set up here for today's show?"**

Johnny fingered the bridge of his nose, and then pinched it with his skinny thumb and forefinger; a throbbing headache growing and the blood pounding in his ears adding to his irritation. Tiredly, he gave the Styrofoam dolls the description of the motion tracking gun connected to the telephone, and got back an approving response from Mr. Fuck, and a rude sneer from the other.

"**Oh, please, spare me this! Here is yet another of his false attempts! The little shit lies. Tell me, Johnny C., who is going to call you? Nobody ever calls you! Not even wrong numbers! And you KNOW IT! When was the last time that phone even rang? Especially at two in the morning? Nobody wants you! You've chased them all away! Pusillanimous wretch! Peering over the edge of the abyss, but never strong enough to JUMP!"**

Psycho Doughboy's voice was filled with anger, betrayal, and disappointment as he glared hatefully at the sickly thin man sitting in the chair several agonizing feet away from him. Johnny lifted his head, his eyes possessed and filled with a dangerous hunger for blood and his facial features expressing genuine hate.

"**You want, so much for me to die, why haven't you just KILLED ME YOURSELF?"**

He spit at the Styrofoam toy and flared his nose, swiftly getting up and glaring down at the two doughboys in disgust.

"**I CAN'T. But trust me; I would LOVE to- to serve my master. I am, however, not strong enough**. Fuckety, fuck."

Psycho Doughboy was cut off by Mr. Fuck who was smiling with dark pleasure.** "Not yet, anyhow. But get this, Nny, he doesn't even care about being strong enough! He actually does want to serve his master. Me? Well, I need you alive a little longer, so just ride it out!"**

Looking away from them, Johnny muttered to himself**, "You know what? I don't even know how I came to live in this house. I guess pretty soon, I won't even remember Nailbunny."** He took a long, shuddering sigh, and rubbed an eye, tired, but not willing to retreat from the shitty scene and sleep. It wasn't at all comforting or reassuring; it wasn't even productive. But then again, when was his life ever productive?

"**It's all so very distressing. Is it not? So what is the point of remaining? Be serious on this Johnny. I apologize for what I said earlier. I'm your friend. Kill yourself. Do it for your FRIEND."**

Psycho Doughboy pleaded with a desperate tone in his voice; his Styrofoam hand reaching out for assurance. Johnny's face filled with tears turned to a deathly expression. Turning around to face the shit possessed decoration, Psycho Doughboy, Johnny grabbed him around the neck in a crushing force, his nails creating dents into the foam. Slamming the doughboy onto the cracked wall of his home, he angrily pulled out a knife which was hiding inside one of his black steel-toed boots, and stabbed Psycho Doughboy in the middle of his shit-smeared face.

Letting go of the squirming Styrofoam, Johnny panted with unsettling anger as his hands and eyelids twitched. "**NO! I CONTROL ME! I CONTROL ME**, YOU FUCKING SHIT!"

Johnny's crazed look spread on his face, his eyes wide and pupils only tiny specks along with crow's feet lining his forehead. Mr. Fuck hobbled over to the wall and stared in humor and entertainment at the sight.

"**HURRAH! YIPPEE! Fook-fook! Nicely done, dear boy! Now, quick, go kill something! The barrier grows thin! Don't let IT escape! Let's go mutilate club kids!" **

Johnny turned to the other doughboy standing beside him and unleashed his anger and emotion upon the other. "**FUCK YOU, EFF! I'M NOT FEEDING THE WALL! AND I'M NOT KILLING MYSELF, AFTERALL! I'm turning the arm OFF! And I'm TAKING CHARGE OF…"**

Johnny turned the arm on, thinking that he had turned it off, and flinched.** "Hey, It didn't fire, the gun! I am SO lucky! I…"**

"**IT WASN'T ON TO BEGIN WITH!" **Psycho Doughboy yelled just as the phone rang.

Johnny and Mr. Fuck glanced at the phone behind them, and Johnny's eyes opened even wider in surprise.

Who would give a care, or would even be awake at two in the fucking morning?

"**WHO THE HELL…. Somebody's calling me? SOMEBODY'S CALLING ME,"** Johnny reached for the phone hook, immediately forgetting that he had just turned on the suicide machine, "**I beat you guys! Things will be DIFFERENT now! I feel it."**

A flood of questions poured through Johnny's thoughts as he picked up the receiver. Who would call him? Why did they call him? Why did they care? DO they care? Maybe it's just someone calling the wrong number. Fuck.

Putting the phone to his ear, he answered with a weak, "hello?"

Before Johnny could hear the other person's voice, the gun's trigger whizzed through the air, and a silver bullet shot into Johnny's head, and through his eye socket. Due to the force of the bullet, Johnny fell to the floor in a mess of blood and carcass; dark crimson running down his face, the skin around the wound burning with irritation, and the hot bullet was lodged inside of Johnny's brain. A complete mess.

Blind, Johnny's breaths came quick and burdened as a stream of blood flowed out of the hole. Bloodcurdling shrieks and screams came from Mr. Fuck in fury and surprise as Psycho Doughboy stayed pinned to the wall, smiling madly and cackling in pleasure and success.

_**Dear Die-ary,**_

_**I seem to be dead.**_

* * *

><p>(AUTHORS NOTE)<em><strong>:<strong>_ Hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's not as gorey and bloody as you might have wanted, but whatever. ALL OF THE BOLD TEXT are specific quotes from the comic issue, "A Call", and they belong to JHONEN VASQUEZ. Not me.

I didn't put much psychological input on this chapter, its more about the action of the story.

Rate it, Review it, Message me, Hate it, tell me what you think of the story so far. And if you would, please tell others about the story as well._**  
><strong>_


	3. Suffocation

Seconds passed; each tick of the clock lasting a lifetime. Every movement was slowed and blurred, the vision blackening at the edges; the sure sign of death to wash upon him and all that he was.

Wooden floors below were spattered with dark crimson; a river of blood continuously flowing from a deep hole inside of Johnny C's head.

Screaming with fury, Mr. Eff looked helplessly at the ceiling, while Psycho doughboy stayed pinned to the wall.

Coughing up more dark crimson, Johnny writhed on the floor, covering the see-through hole and captivating half of his face. Panting with loss of blood and oxygen, he started wheezing with exhausting effort and cursed silently to himself as he slowly curled into the fetal position.

Mr. Eff, furious and disappointed, he hobbled his stubby, Styrofoam body over to Psycho Doughboy, who was squirming with delight despite the fact there was a 9' in. blade protruding from the middle of his face.

Steaming, Mr. Eff angrilly ripped out the knife that pinned Psycho Doughboy, and threw it to the side effortlessly and carelessly.

"Fuck." Eff's eye started twitching and started to head out of the room along with another proud piece of Styrofoam.

"You poor, pitiful bastard," Mr. Fuck said, casting one last, reluctant glance at the dying man on the floor, which was consumed in blood.

Johnny, shivering, and blind, continued panting and wheezing, trying to think of when everything had started to spiral out of control; when he lost grip of his own reality.

He recalled the conversation he held with Nailbunny not that many days ago. But all he could remember from that night were faint images and only part of the dialogue he shared with the severed bunny head.

A low, faint voice whispered in the back of his mind as he thought back to that night.

**"Let me remind you that you've still no idea what you were like before all of this. Pity is one thing you shouldn't…. yet."**

Bunny's voice sounded disfigured, and inaudible at some points, and the pounding of blood in his ears growing louder, louder, louder, louder.

**"The other voices….. –aware."** The voice was getting fainter, yet fainter more, making Johnny push himself to hear Nailbunny's reassuring voice just once more.

A loud click flipped on in the back of his mind, and a clear, more distinct audio of the dialogue played over, and over, and over back into his head, reliving the uncomforting nightmare.

**"Ohhh…. I wish… I wish someone would just switch me off and… FIX ME."** A sob sounded into his head, **"Bunny?"**

**"Yes, Nny?"** The gentle, silky voice soothing him; distracting him.

**"I'm not happy**, I'm not happy, I'm not happy ,switch me off, not happy, fix me, not…fix…happy…NOT…HAPPY"

Johnny's broken, recorded voice played back over, and over into his mind, taunting him, eating away his strength, every moment of joy, every ounce of his will to continue. His voice got louder, louder, until he realized someone was nudging his ribcage, bruising his torso and disturbing his inner epiphany.

Looking up though his only good eye, his vision wobbled until he spotted two of his hostages standing over him; one with a dirty, fucked up expression, and the other, a disgusted, pitiful look. Of course, he couldn't remember what exactly he did to them, but it didn't really matter at the moment.

Johnny took another few rasping breaths and forced with all his might to hear the conversation going on between the man and the woman. The man had an oddly shaped head, like a potato… heh.

**"…You go on, get out! I'll leave after putting a few dents in this uh…this…FUCKER!"**

The potato-head man knelt down close to Johnny, looking at him with murderous hate in his eyes, a glint of grotesque disturbance, and a thin sheen of sweat caking his forehead.

Irritation grew inside of Johnny. They intruded on his last memory with Bunny, and he's most likely going to die without Nailbunny's reassurance beside him, to guide him. Fuck.

**"Hsss…"** Johnny took another, long rasped, burdened breath, **"You won't be going ANYWHERE. You're dying too. KKchhhh…"** Coughing up another pool of blood, Johnny shuddered and turned to get a better look at his visitors.

**"WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY? Oh, man, I'm gonna…"**

Potato man looked angrily down at Johnny in disgust and bent down, a sneer forming over his lips.

Ignorant little shit. Can he NOT see the shot wound on his head- no wait, through? People are too distracted in their own publicity and proud selves to see the reality before their own eyes.

**"What? You'll KILL ME?"** Johnny took his bloody hand away from his eye, and continued with another rasping breath, **"… idiot, look at my head. Better yet, look THROUGH IT."**

Heh… karma…

**"Heh, I am funny…,"** a tremor fled through his body and he coughed once more, sending another fountain of blood onto the stained remains of the floorboard underneath him.

**"hhh… you wouldn't happen to have a CORK on you would you…? Sh…. Shit. Don't you just hate it when you can't feel your legs?"**

Johnny now had to stop in mid-sentence from blood loss, and more blood catching in his throat. The taste of iron in his mouth getting stronger, and worse.

**"…Then there's that pesky onset of blindness… You're lucky death will be quick for you."**

A continuous rant of angry yells came from the potato man, each word just rabble. Rabble, rabble, rabble, rabble…

**"YOU'RE GONNA DIE, COCKSU…"**

Interrupting the potato guy's rant, Johnny cut in with a quick, burdened sigh,** "Killing someone who's bleeding to death. Fff…. Fuck. You people… you…"** Johnny grit his teeth as his breaths became shallower, **"how stupid you are. Resorting to the same old monkey brutality, afraid to look up from your bloody dicks. Afraid of transcendence.**

**….You're head looks like a potato."**

Johnny licked his lips, trying to rid himself of the crusty blood that dried earlier on.

**"And how stupid was I? I, actually paid attention to you. Devoted precious thought to it. God… I used to love the noises I heard in my head. Hhhhh…." Another rasp and his fingers twitched uncontrollably, "I never should've left my room… my room, out there, I almost remember it. It's gone now… along with everything else… vanishing.**

**Heh...Potato…"**

**"Ukk… I never even got to see it…. The wall thing. This isn't pleasant… I'd rather not be dead… don't want to die… don't, geez. This is worse than Goth poetry. Agg…"**

The pain lining and inside of his head where the bullet wound was unbearable; as if it was on fire. The agony wouldn't stop, and Johnny tried to ignore the searing burn eating away at his skull.

The other, the woman who was standing beside the potato man, headed over to the window just several feet away, **"… don't even see any stars."**

Potato moron just answered with a rude retort about clouds.

**"No more stars… no… clouds… nothing… hssssssss…." Johnny clamped his mouth shut as he turned his vision back to the ground, and to the puddles of dark crimson surrounding him; wheezing.**

**"It's such an easy thing to say you hate something… so easy to hate… What a piece of shit I am… I ca… can't believe I went the easy way… I thought I knew…**

**I wish I knew something… anything."**

Taking one last glance at the potato man, he added, "ehhh…. Actually… your head looks more like a reject jelly bean." Johnny coughed once more, feeling as if he coughed up almost every intestine within his body, and choked it out. His throat on fire, the agonizing pain from the hole in his head, the emptiness and the loneliness he felt without that inner voice; it hurt.

**"OKAY, THAT'S IT! SAY GOODBYE TO WHAT'S LEFT OF YOUR HEAD!"**

Before Johnny could process what Jelly-bean/potato guy just said, he received what felt like a thousand tons hit his face, fracturing his cheekbone, and pushing the bone into his mouth. Another kick to his face and several teeth breaking away from his gums, along with a smashed nose, a dislocated jawbone, a torn tongue, and a broken neck. The cheekbone cut into the roof of his mouth, and stayed there, along with half of his tongue lying below the bone. Bloody bits and whole teeth flew from his mouth from the impact of the shoe, and his jaw line hung awkwardly at a disturbed angle.

To add to the destruction, his throat and adam's apple were kicked in, causing his air supply to abruptly cut off, and become suffocated.

But, on his last second, a bright flash, and tentacles, faces, flesh, and blood were flying in the air along with yelling, and shrill screams of pure terror.

Finally, Johnny fell, limp and lifeless on a small bit of blood-stained floor, in a black abyss of nowhere.

…

…

…

_**"Sometimes…**_

_**You can cry until there is nothing wet in you.**_

_**You can scream and curse to where your throat rebels and ruptures.**_

_**You can pray, all you want, to whatever god you think will listen.**_

_**And, still, it makes no difference.**_

_**It goes on, with no sign as to when it might release you.**_

_**And you know that if it ever did relent…**_

_**It would not, because IT CARED."**_

* * *

><p>(AUTHOR'S NOTE:) hope you enjoyed this one. Makes up for the gore and stuff you've been looking for.<p>

this is the last chapter for this story, but I'm most likely going to add a sequel; Johnny the Dead Homicidal Maniac (heaven version:) and once I finish that, I'll go on into the Hell version.

All words in BOLD are real quotes from the comic(5) and (4). Those quotes specifically belong to Jhonen Vasquez. Not me.(bows down)

But, it all depends on how busy I am, so, check up every now and then.

Review please. Review, review review(hint: user's w/out accounts can also review.) Please, I need to know what you thought of it. yeah, once again, its not a psychological as I wanted the chapter to be, but oh well. You might find more of that in the later stories. Back to the point, review, favorite, message me, do whatever, to let me know your view on the story please.


End file.
